


Why'd you come in here lookin' like that?

by QueenThayet



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Angry Sex, Bad idea best idea, Drinking, Drunk Sex, Jealousy, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-06
Updated: 2017-12-06
Packaged: 2019-02-11 04:25:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12927408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenThayet/pseuds/QueenThayet
Summary: Inspired by the Dolly Parton song of the same name, written for Teacup for her bid in the auction we held in memory of our dear ArtificialAspidistra. Eames is drinking, Arthur is flirting (with someone else) and there's a whole lot of feelings going on in the bar.





	Why'd you come in here lookin' like that?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [teacuphuman](https://archiveofourown.org/users/teacuphuman/gifts).



> This is absolutely not meant to be a depiction of healthy relationship behavior. Lots of bad decision-making going on here. This is a work of fiction and should not be emulated.

Eames glared into his whisky glass as _that man_ came up to the bar again. He was completely ignoring Eames, as usual, flirting with the bartender, and grinning back at his flavour-of-the-week while he waited for drinks. Like Eames didn’t even exist, like nothing between them had ever existed. Except everything he did seemed designed to drive Eames crazy. He kept waltzing up to the bar with his high-heeled cowboy boots (which made him slightly taller than Eames, so that he could look down his perfect condescending nose at him) and jeans so tight they looked painted on. 

Eames tossed back the rest of his drink and then nudged the glass toward the bartender. “Gimme another, make it a double.” He couldn’t tear his eyes away from Arthur, watching his pert arse parading his latest boy-toy around the dance floor. 

“Gotcher eye on Arthur?” the bartender asked as he handed over the drink. Eames grunted somewhat affirmatively, dipping into his wallet to pay for the drink. 

“You might try your luck, he’s never with anyone for long. I can’t imagine this one’ll last any longer than the last five.”

Eames grunted again, indecisively, drinking his whisky and openly staring, glowering really, at Arthur. Arthur continued to dance enthusiastically with his date. He’d unbuttoned his plaid flannel shirt so Eames could see the undershirt he’d sweated through underneath. He mindlessly ran his hand back through his hair as it flopped into his face. His dimples were fully on display; he never stopped grinning at the young bespeckled man he was with. Eames couldn’t stand it, but he couldn’t look away. He knew he shouldn’t be torturing himself like this, but he couldn’t help it. 

Six songs and another drink later, Eames saw Arthur catch his eye and smirk. He knew exactly what he was doing to Eames, clearly. That was enough for Eames. He pushed some more money toward the bartender and stormed out of the bar. 

He’d barely gotten past the door when he felt a hand reach out and grab his arm. 

“Fuck off, Arthur.” Eames snarled. 

“What? You think you can just spend all night drinking and glaring and me and then stomp out without a word?” Arthur spat back. 

“It’s not _your_ bar. I can drink there if I like. I can look at whomever I like.”

“Yeah, but you weren’t looking at ‘whomever,’ you were looking at _me_ ,” Arthur taunted. 

“The fuck if I was? You knew I was looking. You didn’t like it, you coulda told me to sod off,” Eames slurred. 

“You’re drunk,” Arthur accused. 

“Of course I’m fucking drunk! What else was I supposed to do? You come in here, looking like that? Smiling and flirting and dancing in front of me? Smirking at me? What exactly did you want to happen, Arthur?” Eames shouted. 

“I wanted to make you jealous!” Arthur shouted back. 

“What so you could have a laugh at sad pathetic Eamesie?”

“No, so I could get you back!”

Eames stared at Arthur, pretty sure he’d heard him wrong. The alcohol was obviously making him hear what he wanted, not what Arthur said. 

“What?”

“I wanted to make you jealous so you’d want me back,” Arthur repeated in a more reasonable tone.

“You want me back?”

“Yes,” Arthur said, defensively. Eames kept staring at him, still not certain this was really happening. 

“Whatever, fine, you could just say no. You don’t have to keep staring at me like I’m an idiot,” Arthur said sullenly; ready to trudge back off into the bar. Eames reached out and grabbed a fistful of Arthur’s t-shirt and pulled him close, crushing their mouths together. 

“What were you drinking, straight whisky?” Arthur made a face when they separated again. 

“We are going to have a long, long conversation about feelings and relationships and appropriate behavior at some point. In the morning. When I’m sober,” Eames said, somewhat dazed. 

“What are we going to do until that time?” Arthur raised an eyebrow. 

“I’m going to peel you out of those fucking jeans and then I’m going to fuck you until you fucking scream.” 

“What makes you think you’ll be the one fucking me?” Arthur smirked. “Are you sure you haven’t had too much whisky?”

“Darling, I can fuck you, you can fuck me, I don’t fucking care, but I’m about thirty seconds away from having you up against this wall right here,” Eames growled.

“If you can contain yourself, my apartment’s just down the street,” Arthur offered.

Eames eagerly followed Arthur down the street and up the stairs to the familiar little studio apartment. Arthur didn’t even give Eames time to properly come in before he was pushed up against the door as it closed. 

“Off, take this off!” Arthur ordered into Eames’ mouth as he struggled with the buttons on Eames’ shirt. 

Eames pushed Arthur’s shirt off easily and attacked the button on his jeans. “Like you have room to talk. You don’t even have pants under these do you?” Eames accused, as he finally undid the fly and found that he was correct. “You tart.” 

“I fucking hate this shirt,” Arthur complained as he pulled it off of Eames. 

“I know,” Eames said. He’d maybe worn it a little it on purpose because he knew how much Arthur hated it. 

“I hate _you_ ” Arthur growled. 

“No you don’t,” Eames retorted. 

“No, I don’t,” Arthur repeated. “Bed, now,” he ordered. 

Eames obeyed with alacrity, stumbling as his pants and trousers caught around his ankles. He kicked them off and dropped onto his back, raising his knees to expose his arse. 

“Now who’s the tart?” Arthur asked smugly as he grabbed a bottle of lube and a condom on his way to the bed. “On your back, legs spread, begging for it.”

“Shut up and get over here and fuck me.” 

“Or what?” Arthur taunted, but he still came over to the bed and began to work Eames open with well-lubed fingers. 

Eames groaned in lieu of answering. Arthur always knew exactly what he needed, knew exactly how much he could take and how fast. Which meant that sometimes he used that knowledge to drive Eames crazy, never giving him enough, but this was not one of those times. Arthur was just as keyed up as Eames, apparently. Eames whined as Arthur removed his fingers, but they were quickly replaced by the blunt pressure of Arthur’s cock. 

“Fuck, yeah,” Eames moaned as Arthur pushed into him. He’d missed this, being held down by Arthur, being taken by him. He’d missed _Arthur_ , he could finally admit to himself. Arthur hips pounded into him relentlessly, hitting his prostate and bringing him to the edge more quickly than was at all respectable. But nothing about this was respectable. Eames reached down between them to get a hand on himself, bringing himself off with a few pulls. Arthur continued thrusting into Eames, bending down to change the angle and smearing the mess all over Eames’ torso. 

“Jesus Christ, Eames,” Arthur swore as he came and collapsed on top of Eames, breathing hard.   
“Yeah,” Eames exhaled in agreement. He allowed himself, for just a moment, to forget all of the ways this had been a potentially very bad idea and just enjoy all the ways in which it was wonderful. Arthur’s weight on top of him. Arthur’s cock inside of him. Arthur’s mouth kissing his neck. Eames closed his eyes and just breathed him in. He was drunk and sated and very tired now. 

“Talk tomorrow?” Eames asked as Arthur passed him the tissue box to clean himself up. 

“Yeah, tomorrow,” Arthur agreed, fitting himself back into Eames’ arms. “Go to sleep, Mr. Eames.”


End file.
